Page 41

N iam stared blankly at yet another document presented by his secretary. Some days, his office might as well be a prison cell. “Thank you, Willem. That is all for now.”

Willem bowed, taking the document away. “Very good, Your Majesty.”

Willem’s deference teased a smile from Niam. “You may call me Niam in private.”

A blush stained Willem’s fair cheeks. “My parents lectured me endlessly that I should call you King Niam or Your Majesty.”

Niam’s smile grew wider. “And yet you occasionally didn’t in the past.”

The pink of Willem’s cheeks flared to purple, but the same mischievous grin from bygone seasons tugged at his wide mouth. “I never was an obedient child.”

Niam snorted. “You’re hardly an obedient adult.”

“I take that as a compliment, Your Majesty, as you haven’t sacked me yet.” Willem grabbed a goblet and decanter from a side table and poured a glass of wine for him .

No, Niam hadn’t. And he wouldn’t. Especially not when Willem anticipated Niam’s needs. He took the goblet from Willem’s hand.

“May I speak freely, Your Majesty?”

“Willem, when has saying no ever stopped you?” Niam asked, one eyebrow raised, a half-smile softening the criticism of the words.

Willem feigned an innocent expression. “It is polite to ask, so I’m told.”

“Say what’s on your mind.”

“I believe Lord Rufe's leaving has distracted you.”

What? Niam glared. If Willem saw…

Willem held up his hands as though defending himself from a blow. “Few people are as attuned to you as I am, and if anyone else suspected anything, then I can logic-twist them into believing whatever I choose.”

Niam calmed, taking a sip of wine. “Yes, I miss him. Is that wrong?”

“Your M—”

Niam glowered.

“Niam, then. You stepped into your father’s shoes at an early age and made extraordinary decisions for the good of all, aligning yourself in a political marriage for the greater good. You’ve been all anyone could ask for in a ruler.”

“What are you trying to say? It’s not like you to mince words.”

“It isn’t, is it? Anyway, what I’m trying to say is it’s about damn time you made yourself happy. So many throw themselves at you for power or money, yet Lord Rufe didn’t seem to want either. I hated to see him go.”

“You don’t care that he’s a foreigner?”

Willem scoffed. “I’ve never heard a more ridiculous notion that we’re somehow different because we make our homes in a different area. But no, I don’t see him as a foreigner. He’s a good man, regardless of what kingdom he calls home, what station in life, etcetera. Those are rare these days.”

“Yes, they are.” Niam lifted his goblet so the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window sparkled in the drink.

“And if you ever needed him…” Willem lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“You could do far worse than having your own personal warrior by your side.”

Yes, Niam could. “But he’s gone now, and he’s not coming back.” No matter how much Niam longed for Rufe’s return.

“Oh, I’m not so sure, Sire,” Willem replied with a wink.

The day dragged by, and Niam constantly wished for Rufe’s company. Where was he now? Renvalle? Did he think of Niam? How ridiculous! Rufe had other, more important matters to see to.

Willem never reappeared, allowing Niam to wallow in misery alone until the dinner hour. Best put in an appearance. Guilt ate at him for not seeing his mother and sons since breakfast. Hearing their merry chatter would definitely lift his mood.

Casseign wasn’t one of the guards waiting outside the door. “Where is your captain?” he asked.

“The commander sent for him, Your Majesty.”

The commander. Someone else Niam must deal with who couldn’t be trusted.

Niam met only a few servants on his way to the great hall. Many nobles must already be seated. The hall seemed especially full tonight, not simply castle residents in attendance, but visitors too.

Niam settled at the table with his mother and Eoghan. His sons’ chairs remained conspicuously empty.

“Where are the boys?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll be along any minute,” Eoghan replied.

He appeared far too casual for a man normally obsessed with punctuality. Niam searched the faces of those surrounding him. Some were confused, some paying no attention, but Eoghan radiated smug satisfaction.

Niam shot to his feet and pointed at two of his guards.

“Take Eoghan into custody. The rest of you guards, come with me.” He shot out of the room by the family’s private entrance, running across the courtyard, and took the stairs two at a time.

Niam might be panicking over nothing and owe Eoghan an apology, but the roiling in his gut said he wasn’t wrong.

He reached the family’s floor and flew down the hall, throwing open the door to the boys’ shared rooms. Nothing.

No one in the sitting area, or Quillan’s bedchamber.

Niam’s heart seized when he entered Uri’s.

Master Wedgeworth lay face down on the floor in a pool of blood, a sword still gripped in his fist. He’d died trying to defend his charges.

Niam kneeled and turned the man over. A gash across his throat told its tale. Niam closed his eyes, breathing out a harsh breath, and turned to the guard nearest him. “Find my sons, and to those who’ve taken them, show no mercy.”

Feet pounded from the room. Two guards remained. “Go look for the boys,” he growled.

“No, Your Majesty. We’re here to protect you.”

“What of my mother?”

“She’s confined to her room under guard,” Willem said, striding into the room. His gaze fell on Wedgeworth. “Poor man.”

Niam tore through the room for any clues, a note, anything. If he confronted Eoghan now, he’d kill the bastard with his bare hands.

His enemies chose now to attack when it might take days to reach help from the empire. “I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them all!” he raged.

“I’ll help you,” Willem said, far too calmly for the sentiment, “but for now, we need to get you to safety until we can find out who’s trustworthy.”

Niam had sent his most loyal soldiers with Rufe to keep him safe. They weren’t due back yet, to keep up the appearance of having escorted Rufe to the border. How many here weren’t loyal ?

“Have Eoghan brought to my office. At once.” Niam stormed from the rooms without waiting for an answer, leaving his guards to sprint after him. If any harm came to his sons… He marched to his office, heart pounding. How dare anyone harm his children!

They’d pay for the tutor’s life, too.

Niam threw the door open and marched into his office, stopping cold at the figure behind his desk.

Whreyn sat in Niam’s chair at his great-grandfather’s desk, a glass of wine in hand. “I suppose you’re ready to talk to me now.”